Sketching Sunrise
by starlightsiren
Summary: A story about growing up, moving on and conquering demons, both real and those without physical form.  Currently on indefinite hiatus, sorry!
1. Prologue

**Author's note: Hi! This is the first time I've used this site and I'm a little nervous about uploading this but an idea struck me and just wouldn't let go. So, I hope you all enjoy it even a fraction as much as I enjoy writing it, but if you don't, please feel free to leave constructive criticism, it's a great gift!**

I am a blank page. Empty, lackadaisical – wait, that's not strictly true. Not quite. This page has been written on, scrawled across and finally cleansed, erased. The faint pencil marks still remain though, their imprint deep and long-lasting. Yet masked, covered, by meaning, by colour. Splashes, scribbles, words, pictures, sentences - all in vivid, vibrant hues.

People sometimes say there is a lack of colour in the world but that's not true. It's lurid and blinding. It overwhelms the senses until there's nothing left but numb, paralysed white. A void. Less than before, less even than the swirling black, tempestuous navy and bloody crimson that I once adorned myself in so effortlessly. Redemption does that – strips away everything. It cleanses but at the same time it leaves a person sterile, listless.

In fact, without them that's all I would be. All I could possibly ever hope to be. Without their shades and tones, inflicting bright, sunshine-coloured flashes of joy and harsh, painful slashes of silver… without that I'd be nothing but scrap paper. Used, unwanted and most horrific of all – meaningless.

Inadequacies and insecurities threaten to consume me. After all that has passed, I should be thankful. Thankful for their acceptance, tolerance, their vibrancy. Being left washed out and faded replaces gratitude with envy and a niggling sense of disgust at one's own existence, or lack thereof.


	2. Chapter One: Sunday's Haze

**Author's note: I'm really trying to move towards writing longer chapters and I hoped to do it with this one. However, I found it just seemed like a nice place to round it off as I don't want to introduce too much in one go. I need to keep some of my cards to my chest, after all! Oh and once again, please feel free to review and leave any constructive criticism. Thank you! **

Sunday afternoons are dewy and heavy. They laze around gently, awaiting their passage like terminally ill patients. Constantly on their deathbeds they writhe and moan, yet never cause much commotion. That is of course, until Daisuke sets off fireworks.

Not literally, the apartment is far too small to take such a blast – even Daisuke and his endless enthusiasm is well aware of that. He's a firework himself though, bright, bold, loud… captivating. Jumping around like a bottle rocket, wheeling through the thick summer air like a Catherine wheel. Fiery and impassioned, with an explosive disregard for the tranquillity that Sunday brings, Daisuke fires himself loudly through my front door.

He flicks the air conditioning on immediately, chattering idly about Miyako's new boyfriend, Hikari's new haircut, Taichi's latest goal. I smile, just slightly. Always ever so slightly, so as to not shatter the porcelain façade that surrounds us.

"Ken, you really shouldn't sit around in this heat, you'll fry your brain!" he calls out to me jovially, voice reminiscent of summer berries and fresh breeze. Then he frowns, lips pursed a little and chastises me.

"Are you even listening to a word I'm saying?" he demands.

I sit there and blink cautiously, awoken from peppermint daydreams of days I'll never live. Perhaps he's right, perhaps the heat of summer has fried my brain. Turned my thoughts and visions sluggish and sepia tone as the world continues to spin around blank, lethargic old Ken. A familiar throbbing in the back of my neck begins to smoulder slowly.

"Sorry," I mumble in reply, "I guess you're right after all."

Daisuke stands, tall and proud, smile brighter than a thousand suns. Extending his calloused hand he pulls me up to face him. With a wide yawn, he begins to speak.

"C'mon Ken, let's go out, it's boring in here!" he says before glancing around with a slight flush to his cheeks. "Not that there's anything…"

And I laugh because it's so very Daisuke to speak first and think later. There's no offence caused though, not even in the slightest. If anything I'm flattered – flattered that Daisuke would take the time out of his precious weekend just for my sake. So I smile back and let him guide me out of the front door.

Which is how I ended up sat in the Tokyo Joypolis, cola cup in hand. Leisurely picking at the seasoned chicken wings graciously handed to me by a zealous Daisuke; I can't help but sigh wistfully. He bounds around, leaping into various arcade games, one after another. Slotting money into every machine, he plays at least each once, chortling along without a care in the world as he waits for me to finish. Breathlessly he takes his seat next to me, beaming and babbling about his latest high score.

"Is there anything else you'd like to go on?" I inquire, finishing my drink. It's difficult not to stare when someone smiles so brightly, I find and my interest lies not in his answer but the way he answers. Movements, expressions, vocal pitch – they form a unique fingerprint that no one else can quite replicate.

"We could ride the ferris wheel?" he replies as he turns his head away, out towards the bay. Crystalline waters lap gently against the shore.

My neck begins to burn once more.

Briefly, I ponder the situation. Despite the clear light of day and the bustling crowds, I can't ignore the ominous crashing of a far off ocean playing in my ears. Panic begins to set in. Escape is vital to survival. I turn my attention back to Daisuke and state my agreement, hoping he doesn't recognise my fear. Doesn't sense the danger that will not come. That _can't_ come.

We ride the wheel. He talks and I listen. Or, more accurately, he talks and I sit silently, trying to dispel the niggling doubts. We're safe. He's safe. I'm safe. This isn't even a real island, no brooding, tempestuous waves can swallow us here.

"Ken," he begins rather hesitantly, lacking his usual bravado. It captures my attention so clearly that I can't turn away. "Are you feeling okay? You look kinda distant." His hand wraps around my forearm and he frowns.

"I'm okay, Daisuke. Really I am. I'm just a bit distracted by…" and then I pause, unsure of what to say next. How to explain the haunting omens that only I seem to notice. Thankfully, the simultaneous buzzing of our D-Terminals provides an exit route from my wayward thoughts.

"It's from Miyako…" he says and as I open the message I can feel my stomach plummet, all the way down the 337 foot drop to the ground below. A disturbance in the digital world, large-scaled and growing. Growing by the minute. Could it be… could there be a connection?

"What were you thinking about?" he says. His voice is serious and level, a detail almost as chilling as our subject matter. He is no longer the carefree teenager he was twenty minutes ago and that simply terrifies me.

It's difficult to answer, with tumbling thoughts and falling fears clouding one's judgement. Beginning and end seem one and the same. The pain in my neck starts to mount once more.

"The ocean." I whisper and I know. I know what's happening and I know he'll understand exactly what I mean.

I also know the next eight minutes are going to be torture.


End file.
